


The Gumshoe & The Moll

by Jenye



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/F, F/M, M/M, New York City, Prohibition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5871583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenye/pseuds/Jenye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1924 and the prohibition is in full swing.  The entire country has been dried up for nearly five years and in desperate need of a stiff drink.  And for those with business minds and uneasy morals it’s an easy payday. New York City detective, Bellamy Blake, has been assigned to dive head first into the spinning world of speakeasies, excess, and black market booze.  Going undercover is the break he’s been waiting for and taking down this crime family could make him a household name.  </p>
<p>His plan was fool proof, and then Clarke Griffin sauntered into that parlor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gumshoe & The Moll

**Author's Note:**

> Good day! Well, I need another WIP like I need a hole in the head. I've actually had this outline saved for awhile. I guess waiting for a rainy day. Well, then Goodfellas came on televison - okay, okay - I turned it on. But this part came out of me like rapid fire. It's kind of become my baby over the months. So I hope at least someone is interested in the idea! Anyway, enough of my rambling. I hope you enjoy this little world I've created!

The city below hustles with Thursday traffic; those who can afford the latest model Ford is pushing in Time’s recent issue crowd the streets while the rest of society fills the sidewalks. The clouds are starting to roll in and the morning sun had succumbed to an afternoon haze long ago. New Yorkers know there is nothing worse than walking these filthy sidewalks in the rain so they might as well get their errands completed before the evening storm sets in.

 

He watches with mild interest, more aiming to pissing off his counterpart than actual city life below. He runs a hand over his face as if it will somehow drown out the other man’s incessant need to tell him repeatedly that he’s not ready for such a task. That he hasn’t been out of the academy long enough to even know how to properly press his uniform let along go undercover in one of the city’s biggest smuggling rings.

 

The thing is, even _he_ knows he’s wrong. If Detective Marcus Kane had been speaking with any other cadet he might be on to something, but Bellamy Blake did not come from the same cushioned upbringing as many of the others sitting out there in the pen. He walked the same streets as these smugglers, grew up with the muscle of these mob bosses. Ran in the same circles as many of the trouble boys that they were now after. Hell, he would have easily fallen into their smooth ideals if it hadn’t been for his sister. And watching their mother fall victim to the very liquid these fools were bringing into the city illegally.

 

“Bellamy?” Kane’s voice is sharp, “Are you listening?”

 

The younger man finally turns away from the window and looks at his boss, leaning against the front of his desk. His suspenders slack against his shoulder as he hutches his shoulders, arms crossed over his chest. His crisp blue shirt now with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, looking like a long day has certainly taken its toll. His ankles are crossed in front of him and it’s a rarity to see the man, who’s almost twice his age, this casual.

 

Bellamy never really had a father — his mother being a pro skirt for most of her life — but he assumes having Kane in his life for the last several years is making up for it. And he’s yet to decide if that’s a positive addition or not. He can’t count how many “Glad you’re okay, but I could ring your neck you for being so reckless” conversations they’ve had in this office. And this one is certainly going to take the cake, but he has to try.

 

“Kane —“ The man raises his eyebrows in question and Bellamy quickly pauses and corrections himself, “ _Sir_ , you know I’m the best person for the job. Who else are you going to send into Dante’s ring? I’ve got the smarts of a grifter. That’s why’s I’ve been so successful thus far. _Let me do this_.”

 

“Don’t get too cocky, Blake.” Kane pushes himself away from his desk and walking toward him, hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers. “You’re good, but you’re eager. And undercover work is not for the eager. You don’t make the time right to strike; you _wait_ for the right time. And Dante’s crew is the best there is. We’ve been trying to tie them down for months – _years_ , even. And they’re loyal to their leader. We’ve caught several of his hatchet men and they go down with their lips sealed. This is an all or nothing case.”

 

“That I _can_ handle,” Bellamy pushes.

 

There’s a long silence, Kane examines the younger man in front of him. And suddenly Bellamy feels uncertain about his looks. He knows he doesn’t look the part at all. Beneath his city issued attire is a torn undershirt and shoes with snags in the heels. His hair isn’t the styled grease that the rest of his unit has, but his unruly curls have never really been an issue before. He doesn’t even want to land on the topic of his mixed heritage. Kane took a risk just based on that alone and he’s grateful. Angered that it would even be an issue in the first place, but grateful. He doesn’t come from much, but he’s bound to make it. Kane saw that the moment he met him and ever since Bellamy has felt indebted to that loyalty.

 

Kane doesn’t speak as he walks toward the closed door of his office and Bellamy’s chest deflates. He hasn’t won over his cause. But he’s not through fighting; he steps toward the doorway with a million different rebuttals on his tongue. None of which he uses before he hears Kane yell into the pen, “Raven Reyes, get in here.”

 

Bellamy looks confused as a young cadet marches into his office. Another officer that Kane got slack over, but he was never one to back down from a good fight with the higher ups. Raven Reyes was every bit the police officer as her male counterparts – in some efforts she was more. Just by looking at her one could see through her professional skirts and proper hair that there was a fighter amongst them. Something she never missed an opportunity to prove — Bellamy witnesses it first hand regularly.

 

Their relationship is rocky to say the very list, especially at first. Bellamy, admittedly being a pigheaded man from time to time, had only been interested in her exterior until she made it a strong point to tell him — any anyone else who happened to be within yelling distance — he could take his attraction and stick it where the sun don’t shine.

 

He’s been there to bust her chops ever since.

 

“Yes, sir?” She asks as Kane shuts the door behind her, eyeing the pen for a moment longer. Her eyes land on Bellamy, seeing his frustration. She silently questions him for answers, but he just shrugs defeated, turning back to look out the window.

 

Kane walks back around to his desk and looks from Bellamy to Raven, “You’ll need an inside man. And I got someone in Dante’s crew that I’ve been in talks with, but I want another one on New York’s payroll to be with you.”

 

Bellamy looks back in shock, glancing from Raven to Kane. He’s letting him do this? But the excitement drowns quickly as he realizes he’ll be working with Raven, they’re about like mixing gasoline and a lit match.

 

“Sir, no disrespect, but I don’t need a partn —“

 

“You want the job or not?” Kane cuts in.

 

He does. He wants it real bad. And his boss knows it.

 

“He’s just afraid I’ll out show him in his first real undercover job.” Raven smirks, crossing her arms over chest. Bellamy just glares at her. Regretting even telling her about this idea when they’d read a rather lengthy article in the Post about the toll prohibition — and those who fight against it — was taking on the city.

 

“You’re both too green.” Kane continues, eyeing the two. “I wouldn’t send either of you alone, but I trust you both. You’ve got the talent and the smarts. You’re gonna need all of that to successfully infiltrate this mob. And I don’t think I have to tell you what it means if you’re not successful?”

 

He doesn’t. They know. They are either successful or they’re both in Chicago overcoats before this is all said and done. No one tangles with Dante’s establishment and lives to tell about it.

 

“Good.” Kane says with finality. “Then you’ve got the job. You’ll start in the morning. Now go home, get some rest. You’re assignments will be clear to you by tomorrow.”

 

“I just —“ Bellamy starts.

 

“Bellamy, _please_ get out of here before I change my mind.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Raven is holding the door open for him, watching with amusement, as they both exit their boss’ office. She’s walking behind him, their desks close together.

 

She’s putting on her overcoat when he walks over to her desk, sitting atop the edge. “Dinner? I think we got a lot to discuss if this is going to end up any other way than both of us on the front page of the obituaries.”

  
“Wow, you sure know how to speak to a lady about grabbing a meal.” She counters with a smirk.

 

Bellamy just glares at her before adding, “I’m buying.”

 

“Then I’m picking the place.”

 

He follows her out of the precinct.

 

\--

 

“How long will you be gone?” Her voice has an edge of panic as she stands in the doorway of his bedroom. “What am I supposed to tell Monty if he comes by to see you? I’m not — I can’t —“

 

“ _Octavia_.” Bellamy turns around from the tiny suitcase he’s been organizing and reorganizing to help misplace his mind away from his jumbled nerves. He walks toward her and places his hands on her shoulders with a calm smile — a façade he’s learn to keep in her presence a long time ago. “I’m staying in the city. I will check in when I can. I just can’t tell —“

 

“Me where you’re going, I know. I’ve heard the speech before.” She glares up at him, the fire in her eyes not soothed by his words. “And the part that follows is usually something like ‘I’m just trying to make a better life for us’ and so on and so forth. I get it, Bellamy. But I need you here _now_. You know my seamstress job can’t pay the bills to keep us in this place. And we’ve got —“

 

“It’s taken care of, O.” Bellamy wants to laugh at how much his worried nature has rubbed off on her, but he’s afraid if he cracks a smile she’ll crack his skull. “Payroll knows to bring my earnings here every Wednesday, okay? I’m just working a case, I’m not going into the rainforest.”

 

He leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead and then pulls her into a tight hug. She’s all he’s got and he’d do anything for her, she knows that, but it irritates her as much as it endears her. Because he’d never let her love him the same way, he couldn’t bear the idea of her living in a life where she risks her tail day in and day out with the likes of the crews that run these crocked city streets. She’s his reason for living and he wants better for her.

 

“Besides,” He pulls away, looking down at her with an amused expression. “You’ve been wanting to get rid of me for weeks now. Here’s your chance.”

 

“I’ve been wanting to get you a _date_ for weeks now,” Octavia pushes away from him, heading back down their cramped hallway and into the kitchen. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind — and it’s doubtful wherever you’re going the kind of girl I was hoping you’d find exists.”

 

Bellamy laughs, closing his suitcase and following her into the kitchen. He sits his luggage atop their round table and watches as Octavia busies herself with dishes that don’t need to be done.

 

“I was talking to Roma the other day, you remember her?” Octavia starts like nothing is out of the ordinary. “We saw her a couple weekends ago at the church potluck — you were barely there, so you probably don’t remember — but anyway, she was talking about maybe going to see that new Sherlock show playing down at the cinema, I think that would be good thing for you to —“

 

Her monologue is halted by a sudden knock at the door. Bellamy and Octavia both turn toward the paint-chipped door before looking at each other. Both expressions say neither is expecting anyone. Octavia wipes her hands off quickly and before Bellamy can stop her, she’s pulling the lock and turning the knob.

 

Behind the door stands a man looking extremely out of place in their rundown building. His three-piece suit is crisp and black. His black fedora has a white band wrapped around it that matches the pocket square on the right side of his jacket. The buttons are undone to reveal a buttoned black vest and white shirt. His shoes shine even in the dull lighting. His hands slide back into his pants pockets casually as he scans the woman in front of him.

 

He smiles charmingly and his eyes are warm, nothing like one would expect by his polished and cold style, “Afternoon, Ms…” He trails off, offering Octavia a chance to announce her name.

 

“Can we help you?” She asks, sounding every bit the hardened New Yorker that she is.

 

He laughs, looking down at the floor before back up at the woman who’s not at all interested in him or his apparent status. “I’m looking for Bellamy Blake?”

 

“You found him.” Bellamy steps up behind his sister, grabbing the door edge over her head. “Can I help you?”

 

“I’m taking it by your obvious hospitality that Marcus didn’t tell you I was coming?” He asks, looking from Bellamy, back to Octavia. “Excuse me for the intrusion. The name’s Lincoln Montgomery. I’ll be taking you to meet — well, I’ll be helping you from here on out.”

 

When he finishes his statement his eyes linger on Octavia, obviously not wanting to share any information in front of her. Bellamy glances toward his sister as well before looking back at the newly introduced Lincoln. He pushes the door open the rest of the way and nods toward the inside of the apartment, “Please, come on in.”

 

“Actually, if it’s alright with you, we really need to get going.” He seems almost nervous now as he buttons his jacket back up.

 

Bellamy takes note and nods, walking back toward the table where his suitcase sits. Octavia follows, leaving the door open. She’s glaring at her brother again, her nervous nature taking form in anger.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Bellamy.” Octavia hisses, looking back to where Lincoln stands. “You’re running off to join _the mob_? You’re going to get yourself killed, Bellamy Antony Blake, and I am not going to bury someone else because of — because of those people.”

 

“Octavia, please.” Bellamy tries to pull her into another hug, but she pushes him away. Her eyes filled with tears as she glares at him. “Please. I’m going to be _fine_ — I’ll check in with you as much as possible. Don’t be angry.”

 

She watches him for a long minute, her hands on her hips. Off in the doorway they hear Lincoln clear his throat, but neither cares as they stand off against each other. She looks away from him for a moment, sniffling and wiping her eyes before looking back at him.  

 

“You better be alive by the end of this, you hear me?” She croaks, a tiny smile playing at her lips. “Or I’m going to be so mad at you I’ll have to bring you back to life just to kill you myself. Got it?”

 

“Got it.” He smiles sadly; reaching again to pull her into a hug that she welcomes this time. Her head rests against his chest as his hand cups the back of her head. “Love you.”

 

“Love you too.” She mumbles, watching him head toward the doorway. She looks past him, to his new partner. “Nice to meet you, Lincoln. Try not to joke around too much — people will think you’re all work and no play!”

 

Bellamy just smirks as he shuts the door behind him. They aren’t even down the hallway before he hears the familiar sound of the lock going into place. Instantly, like every time before, it gives he a tiny sense of relief. Lincoln leads the way down the stairs and out into the streets.

 

He doesn’t skip a beat as he walks toward the nicest car on the road, but of course, Bellamy has to gape at the beautiful black mobile in front of him. And others in the neighborhood have also stopped to stare at the gorgeous piece of machinery. These types of luxuries just didn’t appear on their streets.

 

“Where exactly are we going?” Bellamy asks, walking to the passenger side door.

 

“Shopping.” Lincoln says, climbing in behind the wheel.

 

Bellamy sets his suitcase on the floorboard, “I’m not sure what Kane told you, but I’m really not the shopping kind.”

 

Lincoln smirks, “Do you own a suit?”

 

“Not exactly. But I packed a suit jacket.”

 

“Given to you by?”

 

“Uh…I think Octavia said a client left it at the shop for too long.” Bellamy shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “She thought I could wear it on a date – or something.”

 

“That’s what I thought.” He’s pulling onto the busy streets without even bothering to look at the traffic. “You can’t wear that – not if you want Dante to think you’re something more than a paperboy trying to get a position as a chimney sweep.”

 

Bellamy nods, “How do you know Kane?”

 

“We go way back.” Lincoln offers, but nothing more.

 

He doesn’t push any farther for a while, watching the buildings of his familiar neighborhood turn into the glamorous buildings of the Upper East Side. It’s then he looks back over at Lincoln and asks, “So when do we meet up Dante?”

 

There’s a long pause and Bellamy isn’t sure if the man has actually heard him until he clears his throat and looks directly at him, “We go into the underworld when we have to, not before.”

 

\--

 

Bellamy pulls on the sleeve of his newly tailored suit jacket for what feels like the thousandth time that evening. It’s either that or slick his hair back one more time it doesn’t need. He’s only been in this world for nearly six hours and he already feels like his head is spinning. Watching the way Lincoln handled himself at the suit shop had been like something out of a crime novel. As soon as he entered the room it was like the world stopped spinning. The shop owner hung off his every word and jumped at his every ordered.

 

Getting a suit tailored usually meant having to wait a week or two, but Bellamy’s had been finished in nearly an hour while they smoked cigars in the back room and shot the bull with several other — what Bellamy could only assume were — made men. And Lincoln charmed them all like they were old-time friends, but the air of the room told a different story.

 

They were cordial with an edge. Like it was only going to take one wrong look or off-handed comment and the entire room was going to end up with bullet holes from guns that were no doubt hidden from sight, but there nonetheless.

 

And then Lincoln had taken him back to his apartment — the place Bellamy was going to be staying for the duration — and again, it all seemed surreal. The man’s place was easily three-times the size of the small home he shared with Octavia. And even though the décor was simple it was obviously something only those with extra cash could afford. The whole thing made him uneasy. Why would a man who was well taken care of by Dante help take him down? He had made a mental note to grill Kane about this man the first chance he got.

 

But there wasn’t much time to focus on that, because within seconds of Lincoln shutting the door to his apartment he was overloading Bellamy with just how he came to be in New York City. How he was fortunate that there wasn’t much to his family tree – that his last name couldn’t be traced any farther than the mother he lost to the city’s nightlife.

 

“Doesn’t seem all that fortunate to me,” Bellamy had grumbled, but quickly shut up when he got a cold look from Lincoln. This was business; emotions were to be checked with the doorman.

 

Because if there were branches to uncover, Dante’s men could get it done and their entire setup would be a wash. Lincoln had gone on and on about Bellamy’s “life story” so much so that even Bellamy himself got lost in the details, but he figured he got the gist.

 

“Where did you go after your mother passed away?” Lincoln quizzes as they ride up to the top-floor penthouse.

 

“All over.” Bellamy confirms, looking over at the stoic man next to him. He glances back toward the gentleman controlling the elevator, who seems completely unaware of any conversation happening. “Mostly up in Maine – I worked on a fishing boat for several years.”

 

“What brought you back to the city?”

 

“While I was traveling it became pretty obvious what my talents were.” Bellamy says, like he’s repeating the answers to a test. “And I knew I’d make the most of those talents here.”

  
“And those talents are?” Lincoln pushes.

 

Just as the elevator comes to a stop, Bellamy sighs, “Putting the fear of God into people that get in my way.”

 

“By?” Lincoln says, buttoning his suit jacket and stepping off the elevator.

  
“Any means necessary.”

 

Bellamy wants to roll his eyes. He feels like such a stereotypical mob prototype, but apparently those crime tales he’d been so enamored with growing up were on to something like the truth because Lincoln doesn’t even seem phased by the cold cut way he delivers the lines.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Montgomery.” An elderly woman smiles, bowing her head subtly in greeting, “May I take your hat?”

 

Lincoln smiles — again that warm demeanor from earlier appearing for a split second before disappearing — as he removes his hat and Bellamy does the same. The woman takes them both and Lincoln turns to slap Bellamy on the shoulder.

 

“Ms. Janice, this is Bellamy Blake. Bellamy, this is Ms. Janice, Mr. Wallace’s housekeeper.” Lincoln introduces, which seems out of character for such a prestigious setting. And even Janice seems to think so by her expression. But she smiles nonetheless.

 

“Very nice to meet you.” Bellamy nods in her direction before she can point them toward a nearby hallway.

 

“Everyone is gathering in the parlor.”

 

“Thank you.” Lincoln says, leading the way.

 

The grandeur around them has Bellamy’s attention. The beautiful wood paneling and elegant artwork hanging from the walls looked like something out of a museum. The intricate chandeliers glowing above their heads create a tiny array of colors against the rich colored paints. He stops to stare at a nearby bookshelf, but Lincoln clears his throat, gesturing for him to keep up. He’s supposed to be casual, not at all impressed by this kind of surrounding.

 

Rounding another corner, they enter into the foresaid parlor to see several others have already started to gather. The room itself is yet another piece of art with its high ceilings and floor to ceiling windows, draped in gold sleek gold curtains. The focal point of the room is obviously the beautiful fireplace surrounded by decadent lounge chairs and sofa. There is even a small bar off in the corner, crystal glassware and all. Bellamy tries to look as unimpressed as possible, but surveys every inch of the room.

 

A butler offers them both a glass of caramel colored liquid and within seconds a man dressed in a well-designed pinstriped suit is approaching them. Bellamy stares hard at him, his hair slicked back and his smirk filled with a devious nature.

 

“Lincoln, so glad you could join us tonight.” He reaches out his hand to shake his hand before looking over toward Bellamy. “And it looks like you’ve brought a date.”

 

Lincoln laughs, but its forced. His teeth are clenched as he looks over to introduce him, “Bellamy Blake, this is John Murphy.”  


“Nice to meet you.” Bellamy nods, giving a strong shake to the man’s hand.

 

“Likewise.” John says with little conviction, looking back to Lincoln. “Dante know you’re bringing in strays now?”

 

“He’s a smart man. He knows we need more men on our runs.” Lincoln offers smoothly. “And I mentioned knowing someone in the need of a career change. Now if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to introduce him to several of the others.”

 

Before John can argue, Lincoln is walking toward another group of people. They are a lot more welcoming to the newest member of their small piece of paradise. And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Bellamy just how welcoming some of the women seem to be at the prospect of another unwedded seemingly wealthy man in their midst. And he finds it easy to stay involved in the conversation that settles around them until he notices a flash of blonde hair across the room.

 

Instantly his attention is drawn to the woman who has just entered the parlor. Her stunning features and the way her classic emerald dress hug her perfect curves make her almost angelic. The jewels she wears speak of the wealth she surrounds herself with, but her demeanor is somehow different from everyone else’s. She reminds him of the tiny glimpses of softness he’s seen in Lincoln. She speaks with the help more than she’s spoken with the guests in the room.

 

And from across the room her laughter fills his ears and there seems to be an anchor to be attached. He swallows and tries to regain some sense of composure, pull his eyes away from the beauty. But then she looks up from the woman standing in front of her and their eyes meet. Her blue eyes dance with curiosity and amusement. Bellamy almost breaks away from his post next to Lincoln – as if mesmerized by her presence – to go and speak with her.

 

But then a man is standing by her side, whispering in her ear and pulling her close. And Bellamy pauses in his actions, wakes up from his apparent daze and looks back toward the conversation he is a part of. His eyes occasionally would in her direction and every once in awhile he sees her looking back.

 

“Who’s that?” Bellamy finally asks Lincoln when they are standing alone again.

 

“Ah, I see you’ve fallen under the charms my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Clarke.” A man says with fondness from behind Bellamy. Lincoln’s eyes go wide and Bellamy’s stomach twists in knots.

 

“Mr. Wallace,” Lincoln says quickly, trying to smooth over the apparent lust Bellamy was feeling toward his son’s future wife. “This is Bellamy Blake, the – the man I was speaking with you about last week.”

 

Bellamy offers his hand and Dante eyes him for a moment before reaching out to take it. The smile the older man gives would scare even the strongest of men and Bellamy’s certain he’s just walked into the pits of hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Well? Please tell me if it's worth continuing. At the moment I have eight parts planned out for this little diddy - if people want me to continue. No beta - all mistakes are mine. Oh, and I'm over on tumblr! Come say hey (fourfinick)!


End file.
